Christmas 2017 - What's In A Simple Greeting?

“Let us be kind to one another, for most of us are fighting a hard battle.”

Some attribute this quote to Socrates, others to Plato, still others insist (more accurately) that it was first framed in this way by Ian MacLaren (a nom de plume of Reverend John Watson) in the 1890s.

I would submit that the attribution ultimately doesn’t matter.

It is a simple truth that has probably been presented in many different ways over the millennia. It lives quietly alongside the recognition of the “lives of quiet desperation” that Thoreau noted over a century and a half ago, yet has existed within our collective psyches for untold generations.

Some might wonder as to why I bring this up at a time of the year associated with celebration, joy, gift giving, and reaffirming connections with friends and family.

And the answer is once again found in the quote with which I opened this writing. So often, with the best of intentions, we may be tearing open wounds in others that we know nothing about. When we reach out with the expectation that Christmas – or, more broadly speaking, the “holiday season” – is a joyous occasion for everyone, we are assuming a great deal.

I hope my meaning here is not misconstrued; I believe that it is almost always out of kindness, a desire for connection, and a sincere intention to reach out that these holiday greetings are offered. This is especially true for those who have a strong religious connection to the holiday itself.

Yet it is a greater kindness – and a way of honoring the experience of others – to simultaneously be aware that a religious salutation that is strongly associated with a particular time or season may be coupled with a great deal of painful history for many of us. For those of us who wish to honor religious diversity, such a consideration becomes even more important as we watch an extremist minority – whose figurehead now occupies what is the most militarily powerful political position in the world – act to effectively weaponize the phrase “Merry Christmas” against an ecumenical paradigm. (The pretender to the American throne stated on Christmas Eve that he was “proud to have led the charge against the assault of our cherished and beautiful phrase.” But that is a subject for another post.)

My friend Jennifer Mazzucco framed it clearly and succinctly: “faking it through the holidays” can be very painful. I’m sure that those of you who are experienced with “faking it” get this immediately, and it is my hope that what I write here might be of help to you. You are most emphatically NOT alone.

For those of you who may not have this experience, I hope it might be illuminating.

I’ve found myself having to “fake it” for the past decade now. On Christmas night 2007, exactly 10 years ago TO THE HOUR from the time I write these words, my mother Nancy Wertheimer

Nancy Wertheimer

agonizingly drew her last breath – only my brother was there at the time. I don’t believe that anyone other than my brother really saw it coming … I know I didn’t.

It remains the most devastating loss I have ever experienced, and it permanently altered everything Christmas had meant to me. In a moment that is seared into my soul memory, hearing my sister say the words “she’s gone” was like having a backhoe scrape my heart out of my chest onto the floor.

My mother (most of us called her “Ma”) was simply the most kind, loving, generous, perceptive, compassionate and brilliant person I have ever known.

She was on one hand a Harvard PhD psychologist and internationally renowned epidemiologist who uncovered the link between high-current electric wires and childhood cancer, on another a fantastically gifted painter, stained-glass artist and sculptor, and on yet another, a powerful and fiery woman who built several cabins herself from the ground up in the Colorado mountains (having taught herself the disciplines of architecture and carpentry).

Ma at work sculpting driftwood 

One of her greatest joys in life was coaxing beautiful artwork out of pieces of found driftwood, whittling away in the sun on her front porch in Boulder.

And still, with all this, she always found time to be the very best friend I could ever have prayed for, with a ready ear for anything and everything, with great wisdom to share as life threw all of its crazy twists and turns at me.

As I realized that I would never again hold my mother in my arms, never speak with her again, and never be able to quietly sit with her in the common but unspoken reverence we both had for beauty, another deep truth about my experience of Christmas began to reveal itself.

My grandfather Max Wertheimer

This truth was part of an old multi-generational family wound – the kind of wound that rarely reveals itself. Our family had celebrated Christmas – at least in part – in an attempt to somehow “normalize” the fact that my father’s family was forced to flee Germany when he was only six years old because they were Jewish (and, worse yet, my grandfather, Max Wertheimer, was a famous academic).  Unbeknownst to me until quite late in my life, two of my great aunts died in the Holocaust. One in them was killed in a concentration camp (a fact I only learned two years ago), and the other killed herself rather than allowing herself to be abducted by the Nazis.  

My own Jewish ancestry was also unknown to me until an episode in my fifth grade year. I had just seen a film in school about the Nazis, and when I came home that afternoon, my father asked me about what I had learned that day. In answer, hoping to be entertaining and dramatic, I raised my arm in a Nazi salute, saying, “Heil Hitler.”

My father’s face lost all color, all expression … and he wordlessly turned and left the room. After what seemed like much too long a time, now more enraged than shocked, he returned and said angrily, “Don’t EVER do that again.” Once again, he walked away, burying himself in his work – his salve of choice when dealing with emotional pain.

No explanation. No context. Nothing but a stern directive and a confused sense of something much darker than I had ever suspected that lay hidden within the collective subconscious of my family. Now, decades later, I think I’ve come to terms with this wound – and the emotional sleight of hand that enabled our “normalized” (and certainly secular) Christmas celebrations.

To put it concisely, Christmas was simply a way we pretended we weren’t Jewish.

And now, this year, Christmas seems to be presenting itself as the day of recognition that another of the most beloved soul mates I’ve ever known – our sweet, sweet dog Barkley – will have to leave us soon.  

Our beloved Barkley

After nearly two years of doing everything we can (including 24/7 supervision for more than a year) to give our beloved boy the best life possible as he’s faced increasing dementia and extreme mobility issues, Heather and I question if the quality of life he’s experiencing now is worthwhile for HIM. And I’m sure those of you who have had to deal with such a decision will understand how hard it is to choose to end the life of someone who is utterly precious to you.

So at this point it probably goes without saying that I’m just not going to be receptive to even the most well intentioned exhortations to celebrate this holiday, this time of year….

… and just as I began writing this, another friend wrote me to let me know she had lost her younger brother on this Christmas morning. From this time forward, how festive or celebratory could this time ever be for her?  

“Let us be kind to one another, for most of us are fighting a hard battle.”

Sometimes that kindness might take an unusual form … a look, a hug, an honest question, or a deep and silent expression of empathy or compassion in place of what might feel like a meaningless repetition of a clichéd salutation. 

Or, to quote my respected friend Jennifer Mazzucco more fully:
“For so many it is a time of grief, depression, loss and sadness. Please allow others to have their space and don't ever force them to celebrate something they don't want to. Faking it through the holidays can be painful... for those of you out there who get this or are feeling this - I stand with you silently and am sending you love.” 

As do I.